007
by ally-kat312
Summary: My name is Thorne, Gregory Thorne. James Bond AU, Gregstophe as the main pairing. R&R. [DISCONTINUED- SEE A/N]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I wrote this because by God it really needed to exist. And I was away for a while so I did a lot of thinking. This will be another multi-chapter thing. Expect more. Also I haven't seen every James Bond movie ever (just a few) so I did a tiny bit of research. If I'm wrong on things, sorry. Google is, strangely enough, not God.**

I poked my head into the office, giving the secretary my best smile.  
"Good morning Pip," I said. The feminine boy looked at me with a smile, standing and adjusting his cap.  
"Good morning to you too!" he chirped. "I assume you're here to see Miss Wendy?" I nodded as he ran off to grab my boss. Pip returned with the woman I was expecting. I shook hands with her.  
"Lovely to see you M," I said.  
"And you, Bond," Wendy smiled, laughing softly. Years after the famous James Bond had retired, I, Gregory Thorne, picked up his title of 007. It was a running joke around the SIS office I frequented. I was Bond, Wendy was M, and Pip was our Miss Moneypenny. We even had someone with gadget knowledge as vast as Q. He was a good friend of mine.  
"I'm guessing you want to know why I asked you to come here," Wendy said, getting right to the point. Her British accent was very faint, making her American born background evident. It was strange to work with someone who wasn't a native Brit, much less take orders from them, but Wendy was rather intelligent. And she was a legal citizen thanks to her mother's London roots. I nodded to her, and she gestured for me to sit with her in her office. Pip gave us a little wave as we left.  
**XXX**  
Wendy rifled through her desk until she found a file and handed it to me.  
"What might this be Ms. Testaburger?" I asked, opening the manila folder.  
"Your next mission," Wendy said, sitting. Inside the file was information and documents. I skimmed over the pages and caught a few key phrases. International, drug cartel, murder, wanted. Recently emptied the Airdrie Savings Bank.  
"This seems a little too tame for us to be caring, let alone sending me into the field," I said.  
"You would think so," Wendy said, "but take a look through the whole folder." I did as she said, and realized- no pictures.  
"A faceless criminal," I commented. Wendy confirmed with a nod.  
"And a skilled one at that. From what we can tell, the boss calls himself 'Le Mole'."  
"A French rouge I see."  
"Yes, most likely." Wendy stood and pointed to one of the pages. "This account right here was the closest we got to even seeing him. However, the man who testified said he was whacked in the face with a shovel and suffered from amnesia. All he remembered was that it was a tall, fairly fit man with brunette hair."  
"Perfect," I said. "I'll just gather the billions of men who fit that description and chose one."  
"Don't forget that he's most likely French."  
"Hundreds of thousands then." I sighed, my eyebrows creasing just slightly. "What a terrible boss you are M. Don't you have any leads for me?"  
"Don't start underestimating me yet," Wendy laughed. "We've gotten word that this Le Mole, or at least one of his men, will be attending a party off the coast of Spain tomorrow evening. It's being hosted by Token Black, an old friend of mine. They plan to rob and kill or capture him sometime during the party. His family is loaded with old money. I want you to attend the party and try to stop this, as well as capture whoever the cartel sent." Wendy handed me two smaller, thicker slips of paper- an invitation and a plane ticket. I smiled to her and pocketed them inside my jacket.  
"No need to worry about your mate Wendy," I said, standing. "I'll watch out for him." We shook hands again before I left her office. I saw Pip packing his things.  
"Leaving early?" I asked. He looked at me and seemed embarrassed to be caught.  
"Well, I actually have a date," Pip said, blushing faintly. "And he's not the type of chap who likes being kept waiting." I laughed. So Pip swung that way. I had always suspected, but never asked. Not that it was a problem- I respected homosexuals, and the ones I knew always dressed so nicely.  
"I won't keep you here long then," I promised. "Would you just tell our Q that I'll need a few things and be picking them up soon?"  
"Righto Gregory," said Pip. "I'll do that right now." He sat at his computer and started to type an email. "If I may ask, where are you going?"  
"Spain," I replied. "I'm off to catch a mole."  
"Le Mole? Oh yes, I've heard of him." Pip finished and hit send. "I wish you luck if I don't get to see you before you leave. But I know you'll be alright." He placed a friendly hand on my shoulder and left. As he was leaving, I heard his phone ring. He answered it.  
"Hello?.. Oh! Righto love, I'm sorry. Just a little business I had to finish up." Pip's voice grew fainter as he walked down the hall. He said the name of his lover as he left, but I wasn't sure if I had quite caught it. I'll have to ask him later, I thought.  
**XXX**  
Strangely, the head of the Q Division was about three years younger than me. It certainly showed often. I looked over his shoulder from the open doorway at his laptop screen. It was playing that odd game Minecraft. The Q to my Bond was sitting there, headphones on, and moving his character around to do… I don't know. There wasn't really an objective to the game as far as I knew. I knocked loudly on the doorframe. He jumped to close the game window and pull his headphones off.  
"I-I swear, I wasn't doing anything wrong!" He was soft-spoken and shaky until he turned around. "Oh." His voice took on its normal thick Cockney accent. "Jus' you."  
"Just me?" I raised an eyebrow. "Watch your tongue Corey Lanskin. I could still get you fired."  
"Yeah, but you's not gonna do it." Corey stood to meet me. "'Ello mister Bond."  
"What have you prepared for me Q?" I said. "I assume you got our lovely Moneypenny's email."  
"'Course I did. I don't bloody fool around all the time." Corey walked around the corner and came back with a metallic case and lollipop in his mouth.  
"What's with the candy?" I scoffed, earning a glare from Corey.  
"It's supposed to be 'elp for someone getting over a smoking addiction," he said, sitting at his desk to open the case.  
"I've never seen you smoke," I said in confusion.  
"I's never touched a cigarette in my life," Corey said, chuckling. "A bloke can treat 'imself to a lolly everyone now and then, can't 'e?" He brought out the first gadget from the case and held it up. It was a tiny, nearly paper-thin chip that could be easily hidden in the lining of my suit cuffs or underneath my shirt collar. I recognized it instantly- a signaling device.  
"Jus' the usual thing," Corey shrugged. "Activate it or get it destroyed, we come get you."  
"I don't know why you keep giving me this," I murmured, pocketing the device. "I never use it."  
"We's just trying to be cautious is all," Corey retorted. "Your ego needs to take a few steps back." I rolled my eyes, but I stayed quiet. Corey continued.  
"You's also got a master lock-picking set and this little thing." He handed me a small compact disc that looked like a strange metal spider when he pressed the button in the middle. "Stick on any door locked with a pass code and this'll open it right up. Made it myself." Corey's chest puffed up with pride. "It'll work. Now, for your gun…" He pulled out a Walther PPK 7.65mm. It took a lot of willpower to not laugh or smack him.  
"Really Corey?" I sighed. "By God, I swear, at times, no one realizes that I'm not actually James Bond."  
"That's a nice gun and in mint condition," Corey frowned. "You's ought to be thanking me! Wha', you want a Beretta 418 instead?"  
"This'll do Corey," I said, tucking the gun in a holster around my waist.  
"You's still got the tracking device?" Corey asked. I nodded and pointed to the back left corner of my mouth. He had installed a fake tooth with the tracker in the bottom row where my wisdom teeth used to be. It had yet to be of use. As always, before I left, Corey gave me a hug.  
"You's gonna be careful out there, right?" he asked.  
"Of course," I promised. It was at times like this that I could really tell he was just a kid. We both gave each other a small squeeze before letting go.  
"Now go back to your 'Minedraft' or whatever it's called," I smirked, butchering the name on purpose. Corey hit my shoulder, but grinned.  
"Bloody wanker. Get out o' my office." He playfully shoved me to the door. Before I was truly gone, Corey called again. "Gregory?" I turned, and saw something that looked like genuine concern on his face. "I heard you's facing off with Le Mole. So uh… really, actually be careful. Please."  
"The French don't concern me," I smiled. "God save the Queen right?"  
"Yeah." Corey smiled, but it seemed to waver. "God save the Queen."

**A/N: Reviews please! Also, Corey? Freakin' love that boy. He needs more love. Coregstophe is my OT3. Go on. Go show Corey love.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Updates yay. Also the reason this was a chapter and then suddenly not a chapter was because I realized I didn't go through and edit it. Can't give you guys half-assed writing. BTW, using "St. Claire" as Gregory's fake last name is a tiny tribute to probably one of my favorite fanfictions I have ever read. It's called Lex Talionis by Foodstamp and if you haven't read it, go read it right now.**

* * *

My flight, as always, was very smooth. The girl at customs was a cute, sociable blonde. She looked at my passport with friendly curiosity.  
"You've traveled a lot," she noted, stamping the Spain stamp onto a page.  
"It's for my job," I replied. "Bebe," I added with a smile, reading her name tag.  
"I wish I had your job Mr…" She glanced at the front page of my passport. "St. Claire." I nodded at the fake name. Bebe handed it back to me. "I'd love to travel lots of fun places."  
"I hope you do someday," I replied, pocketing the passport. "Have a lovely day miss."  
"And you too!" Her smile was blindingly beautiful, and I could tell it was genuine. So far, so good, I thought to myself. Maybe she would even become my Bond girl for this mission. With a chuckle, I left the airport and hailed down a cab.

* * *

"Gregory Thorne, you are just as sharp as ever," I said to my reflection, admiring my suit in the mirror. James Bond never looked as good in a suit as I did. I took the invitation out of the pocket and turned it over in my hands. It was an engagement party for the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. Token and Nichole Black. I hoped I would be able to meet and congratulate the couple when I got in. Wendy had sent me a picture of Token (who, ironically, was actually black), but I'd like to know his whereabouts if I was meant to keep an eye on him. A private car was rented to drive me to the party. I didn't catch the driver's face, but he spoke quietly and with a faint Polish accent. By the time I arrived, many others were flooding through the doors. A stocky brunette collected invitations from people. I suspected he may be Le Mole, until he spoke.  
"Enjoy the party," he said with an Irish accent. Though it seemed strange an Irishman would be working at a party in Spain, I put it out of my mind. I heard people talking in all kinds of accents and languages around me, and this brunette was not French. I gave him a polite nod and stepped through the doors. Inside was lavishly decorated and waiters walked out with flutes of champagne balanced on their palms. I took one, sipping it slowly. I didn't want my thoughts muddied, but I wanted to blend in. After a few minutes of walking and exchanging an occasional hello, I spotted Token with a girl I assumed to be Nichole on his arm. They were laughing and talking with a man in a crisp, dark blue suit. The three took notice of me, and the man in the suit said something before walking away. He bumped into me as we passed and I looked into his eyes. Dark blue, like his suit.  
"Sorry," was all he said. His voice was slightly nasally and decidedly American. I shook my head to say it was nothing, and went to shake hands with Token.  
"Congratulations to you two," I said.  
"Thank you," Token said, then frowned slightly. "Sorry to ask, but I don't know if I quite recognize you."  
"Of course," I nodded. "I'm actually here on Wendy Testaburger's behalf. I'm good friends with her. She fell ill and sent me in her stead." Token's eyes lit up in recognition and he smiled brightly to me.  
"Wendy, right. She did move out to England after high school, didn't she?" Nichole nodded in confirmation. "We all went to school together," Token explained. "Grew up in the same small town. Craig too, actually." He pointed to the man I had bumped into. He was now talking to a tall blonde who had the looks of a military man. I wondered if Wendy knew him.  
"Nice that you've kept in touch all these years," I smiled.  
"Of course. It's a shame she couldn't make it here though." Token looked sad, then shrugged. "I hope she gets better. Please send her my best wishes and enjoy the party, um…"  
"Gregory," I answered. "And I will. I hope you two are happy together." With one last goodbye, I left to find a good spot to survey the area.

* * *

The party house had two floors, with a bar on the second. I found it a good place to look out at everything. People came and went from there, and it was right next to the railing. After a while of absentmindedly sipping nothing but my champagne, the bartender seemed to get annoyed.  
"Are you going to sit here all night?" he asked me in a gruff voice. I looked him up and down. He had jet black hair and eyes that seemed to be a strange red tint.  
"Quite possibly," I answered. "A bit jet lagged." He scowled.  
"Where are you from?" I asked, wanting to start up a small conversation. He had an accent I couldn't quite place.  
"Hell," he answered bluntly. In spite of the reply, I laughed.  
"How ironic, I think that's where I'm headed someday. What's the weather like?" The bartender gave me a tight smirk.  
"Like London, but with fiery rain instead of normal rain." I laughed again, enjoying his quick wit. I looked over the rail again. Everything seemed to be normal. Token was at the door greeting the latecomers and no one looked like they were about to pull out a gun anytime soon. Maybe a few minutes of chatting would be fine.  
"That's clever," I told the bartender. "What's your name?"  
"Damien," he replied, pointing to his name tag. The name rung an odd bell, but I thought nothing of it. Damien wasn't that uncommon of a name. I had probably heard it somewhere before. "What about you?" he asked me.  
"Gregory." Then I added, "Of Yardale Academy." He regarded me strangely.  
"That school?" He spoke as if my alma mater was common trash.  
"Why yes," I said, bristled. "It's a fine establishment. Don't tell me you-"  
"Oh I know it," Damien cut me off. "And I'm not surprised. You're practically the cover image for there." He shook up some drink he was mixing. "You seem to hold no surprises."  
"Believe me chap," I said with the smallest smile, "I could surprise you if I wanted." Damien raised an eyebrow as he poured a cocktail.  
"If you insist." He handed me the glass, but I refused it, lying that I was a bit of a lightweight. I could actually hold my alcohol very well. Damien shrugged, then held it up himself. "A toast then."  
"To what?" I wondered, picking up my nearly empty flute. Damien gave me a wide smile. His teeth were oddly sharpened like fangs and his red eyes almost glowed in the light.  
"Surprises, perhaps?" He lifted the glass. "And decent company."  
"I think I'm a bit more than decent," I said, but raised my glass to meet his anyways. The clink was drowned out by the sound of the fire alarm.

* * *

**A/N: Oh wow I've figured out how to do the line break things. This is exciting. If anyone knows how I can make the spacing look better, please tell me. Reviews please! I cannot tell you how amazing it feels to get reviews for things you work so hard on. I'm not one of those people who threatens to never update if I don't get x number of reviews before three days from now, but if there aren't any reviews, it feels as though people aren't interested so I don't see the point in continuing.**


	3. Chapter 3

Panic began immediately as guests scrambled over one another to get to the exit.

"It's blocked from the other side!" Someone shrieked, and the chaos got worse than before. I wanted to shoot myself with the gun in my jacket. I turn my head for one second, and of course something goes wrong. But how? Damien grabbed my hand.

"I know another way out," he said.

"You do?" I asked in surprise.

"Yes, but only a few people can get out a time." He got out from behind the bar and began to drag me. I pulled away.

"How do you know? And why take me?" I asked.

"I know because I work here," he said. "And I'm taking you because you're the only person who's talked with me this evening about something other than ordering drinks." Both reasons made sense, but I still hesitated.

"What about Mr. Black?" I asked. Damien considered this, then pointed to a window nearby.

"Get him and meet me there. We can take about three other people, if you want to grab some more decent company." Damien ran to the window and I glanced back over the railing. Token was at the door arguing with the Irishman who had been collecting tickets. I ran down the stairs to them. Token was trying to find out who exactly shut the doors.

"No one!" The brunette insisted. "I swear, I watched it all evening!"

"Someone must have!" Token frowned, then noticed me. "I'm sorry Gregory, there's no way-"

"Out? There is, actually," I said. "I was talking with the bartender, and he knows a way. We have to get you out of here." I took his hand, but Token shook his head.

"I can't go. Nichole is somewhere, she went to go find one of her friends," he said. I looked back and forth, then leaned close to Token.

"You're in danger," I whispered quickly. "I work for the MI6, Wendy is my boss. Your life is being targeted and I have to get you to safety." Token's eyes widened with each word, but he didn't question it. "Will you come with me?" I asked aloud.

"But… what about Nichole?" he asked.

"As soon as you're out safe, I'll go get her," I promised. I noticed the fire that had caused the alarm growing in the corner of my eye. "Hurry!"

"Can we take others?" he asked.

"Only three," I said. "If we could take more, I would've spread the word." Token nodded, then looked around.

"Craig!" he called. The man in the blue suit came over with the blonde I had seen him talking to earlier. "We know a way out. Come with us." The man, Craig, nodded and pointed to his friend.

"Can we take Trent?" he asked. Token hesitated for a second, but then nodded.

"Go to the window upstairs across from the bar," I told them. "I'll be there in a second." While Token was my responsibility, I wanted I search for who had set the fire. Craig and his Trent friend were both strong-looking men. They could be temporary bodyguards. Before I could go, I felt a hand grab mine. It was the Irish doorman.

"I overheard you," he said. "Let me go with you. Please." I frowned.

"I… I don't think that's-"

"Please," he repeated. "I have a wife to get back to. We've only been married a few months." The look in his eyes softened my heart, and I wondered if I would regret being a romantic.

"Go on," I sighed. "But don't tell anyone else. We can't fit them." He nodded and raced off in the direction of Token and the other two. The crowd was a mess to wade through and I said one too many "pardon me's". My hand stayed in my jacket on my gun in case it needed to be drawn at any moment. I wanted to get close enough to the fire to see what had caused it by, and hopefully who as well. As soon as I broke free of the crowd though, the fire had raged too much to tell where it had even come from. A hand on my shoulder made me jump. I whirled around, my gun out and pointing at Damien. He raised his hands and glanced at the gun questioningly, but said nothing of it.

"We had to go now," he said.

"But I-"

"You what?" he asked. I bit my lip. I couldn't tell him who I was or that I was searching for the starter of the fire.

"I promised Token I would save his fiancée," I said.

"She can wait," Damien said. "We have to leave now or else." My pride would be deeply wounded if I didn't catch the arsonist, but I still needed to make sure Token Black was safe. I could at least do that. Damien and I went to the window, which he had opened. An escape ladder beneath seemed to lead right into the open ocean. Damien almost shoved me through the window.

"I'm going," I mumbled, climbing down. At the bottom, I found the other four men and three jet-skis awaiting us.

"Where's Nichole?" Token asked me.

"I couldn't find her," I said. Damien stepped off the ladder behind me.

"We have to leave without her," he said.

"No!" Token started for the ladder. "I can't go without her!"

"Mr. Black." I stopped him and met his gaze. You're the one being targeted, not her, I thought. He seemed to understand me and stepped back. Him first, then Nichole. Damien fished three keys out of his pocket, giving two away and keeping one for himself.

"I'll ride with Token," I said, but Damien shook his head.

"He should go with that guy." He pointed to Craig. "You come with me. Weight purposes." That makes sense, I thought. Not being with the man I was meant to protect put me on slight edge though. But Token trusted Craig. If Wendy was friends with Token and he was friends with Craig, I guess I had to have some faith in the man. We all got on our jet-skis, though I had a last minute argument with Damien.

"I'm driving," I said, trying to take the keys. He snatched them out of my grasp.

"I am," he said in a way that shouldn't be questioned. I did anyway.

"No, let me," I said.

"Have you ever even driven one before?" he asked.

"Of course!" I was offended. "Have you?"

"Yes." Damien mounted the jet-ski and revved it. "Now get on." Token and Craig were already a few meters away. No more time for arguing. I got on, holding onto Damien as he sped off. Once all three of us were a good distance away, the party house exploded. We all stopped and watched. Token screamed his fiancée's name and tried to make Craig go back, but the man was shaking his head. We all knew she was probably dead.

"I guess it hit the gas tanks," Damien said.

"Gas tanks?" I asked.

"The place was powered with gas."

"Ah." I looked over at Token with sympathy. Earlier he was laughing with a nice girl that may have been the love of his life without a care in the world. Now he was crying on the shoulder of his old friend as his girl and guests burned if they weren't already dead, all while knowing his life was in danger. Damien turned the jet-ski around and moved away from the remains of the party house with the others following him.

* * *

After about an hour, I saw a ship on the horizon. Damien seemed to be headed in its direction.

"That's awfully convenient," I commented. Damien said nothing as he pulled up next to the ship and yelled something I didn't understand. A rope ladder dropped down and Damien gestured for me to go. This all seemed too well placed to me, but my only other choice was to jump in the ocean and swim away. However, I would be without Token and I was wearing a suit. Not the best swimwear. So I reluctantly climbed onto the deck of the ship. A dark brunette man with tan skin stood at the top. He must've been the one who dropped the ladder, I thought. I assumed he was a sailor. One by one, the rest of our six member party made it up on deck. Token was clinging to Craig as if he had forgotten how to stand. Damien counted, making sure, then looked at the sailor, who gave a curt nod. In an instant, both my wrists were gripped tightly by Damien and I was grabbed from behind by the sailor. Craig held Token's arms behind his back and Trent held a gun to his head. The Irishman ran off, shouting to someone to get the cell keys. It was a trap. I started thrashing as I glared at Damien.

"Le Mole," I spat. He laughed.

"Not quite, 007," he said, giving me that wide smile again. The sailor behind me was patting up and down all over my body, finding and removing all my weapons. I kicked back at him and he growled.

"Stop zat beetch," he muttered. My blood ran cold. French accent. Brunette. Fairly good physique.

"You're Le Mole," I said in a tone that was almost awe. He had never even been at the party.

"Oui." He had cleaned me of all weapons and even found the signaling device under my collar. Unfortunately he hadn't destroyed it. "Turn 'im around." Damien let go of my wrists and spun me just fast enough that I couldn't react. Le Mole caught my hands. I looked at his face, drinking it in for description later. It was dirty, and his eyes were a deep chocolate brown. There was a scar on his left cheek and his lips… were strangely moving closer to me. Le Mole kissed me before I could utter a word of protest. I tried to turn away, but somehow my head wouldn't move. I felt his tongue exploring my mouth and all I could think was "Christ, this is like chewing a cigarette". After maybe a minute, he broke away. I panted for air.

"Left side," Le Mole said.

"Pardon?" I asked in a daze. He wasn't talking to me however.

"Zere ees a fake tooth een ze left side of 'is mouth," he told Damien behind me. "Een ze back." My eyes widened. The tracking device. He could figure it out that fast? I was once again spun, this time to face Damien. That's when I noticed the handcuffs on me. His red eyes flashed as something hit me hard in the back of the head. A shovel, I thought before I blacked out.

* * *

**A/N: Oh wow, Le Mole's here. So uh, I'm stuck. I have 2 chapters prewritten for this, but after that I'm stuck. Maybe reviews will help inspire me? I dunno. Reviews would be nice anyways.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: That was dramatic. Anyways, thank you for suggestions, though I'm curious as to why everyone thinks I'm making Damien and Gregory brothers (which I'm not)? Is that a thing people do? Oh well. Fandoms get weird. Enjoy.**

* * *

My body registered the throbbing pain in the back of my head before my eyes blinked open.

"God…" I mumbled, groaning in pain. Where was I? It hit me like the shovel had- in the hands of Le Mole. I quickly stood and nearly blacked out again. By then I noticed the taste of blood in my mouth. The tracking device was gone, and most likely somewhere at the bottom of the ocean. I quickly patted myself over. They had left me nothing. I suppose I had to admire them for their thoroughness. This was just a minor setback though. I was Gregory Thorne, today's James Bond. I took account of my surrounding and saw I was in a stainless steel holding cell. It was barely big enough to stand up straight in and almost no room to lie comfortably down on. My door was made of glass that I discovered was bulletproof upon trying break it with a kick. Across from me I could see Token in a similar situation. He looked up at me, seeing I was awake.

"I thought I could trust you," he said. His voice came in strangely. I guessed there was an intercom system of some sort.

"You still can," I replied. "Maybe more so than that Craig chap." Token was silent, staring dejectedly at the ground.

"Wendy would be disappointed," he said quietly. I cringed, wondering what my M would do when she found out what had happened. Would she be worried, or extremely ticked off? Most likely the latter.

"That she would," I agreed. Footsteps came from down the hall and I walked to my door, pressing my hands to the glass. To my utter surprise, it was the Irishman and the girl from the airport customs, Bebe. She smiled at my bewildered expression.

"Nice to see you're finally awake Mr. St. Claire!" She laughed. "Or, Mr. Bond, that is."

"For God's sake, I am NOT James Bond!" I frowned. That joke was only acceptable when I or my office friends used it. Bebe seemed unfazed though.

"Before the boss gets here, I'd like to thank you for bringing Clyde back to me." She looped her arm in his and I noticed her ring. "Isn't he just a little sweetheart?"

"The boss?" I wondered, then said what I had already realized. "You work for Le Mole too."

"We all do," a nasally voice replied. Craig, Trent, Damien, and a fairly chubby man all joined Bebe and apparently Clyde in the hallway dividing mine and Token's cells. They all wore their clothes they had worn to the party but they looked a lot fresher than I felt. The last to walk down the hall was Le Mole himself, but he looked unlike most other drug lords I had encountered. His posture was bad and his clothes, which were basic to begin with, looked slept in for probably several days. I hadn't noticed before, but there were bags beneath his eyes and his brunette hair was in a tangled mess. A cancer stick burned between his lips which were twisted in grimace that looked permanent. So that's where the taste came from, I mused to myself. He looked at Token, then at me, and his mouth turned up into a small, smug smile.

"Bonjour Monsieur Bond," he said, leaning on my door.

"I may be 007, but I assure you, I am not Bond." I spoke confidently. "I'm much better." Damien scoffed, his hands in his pockets.

"Oh of course," he drawled sarcastically. "Bond never went to Yardale like you did Gregory. I'm sure you'll wow us with your brilliance." Le Mole blinked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth as he studied me like a specimen in a cage.

"Thorne," he said after a while. I stared at him surprised. Everyone his comrades looked confused.

"How did you-" I started to speak, but Le Mole cut me off.

"Shut up." The cigarette went back between his teeth. "I am ze one een charge 'ere."

"May I at least ask a few questions?" Le Mole considered my request, then nodded. Over confident, I thought. I can use that. "How did you know I was coming?"

"Damien," said Le Mole, pointing to his raven haired partner. Damien grinned.

"A little bird chirped, or…" He laughed. "'Pipped' in my ear about you." Suddenly I realized why Damien's name had sounded familiar. The last snippet of Pip's conversation that I had barely heard played back in head.

_"What?.. Oh really, it's nothing Damien. Just a quick email before his flight to Spain tomorrow… No I swear I'm on my way! Damien- why yes of course I'll make it up to you love…"_

The thought of it made my anger rise.

"You're using him," I accused.

"Not quite," Damien said.

"Pip is a good man." I glared at him. "He isn't the type you should just toy around with." Damien shrugged and I beat the glass with a fist. "You don't deserve him."

"If it will make you shut up," Damien said, "he's safe. He doesn't know about this and I won't tell him. And don't tell me all that when I bet you don't even know that his name isn't really Pip." The look he gave me wasn't cocky, but simple, as he was just stating a fact that I had never know. "His name is Phillip." He sounded truthful, but I didn't want to believe him. I turned away.

"Liar," I said. Damien shrugged nonchalantly. "Who are you?" I asked Le Mole, deciding to go back to information. The Frenchman in question looked to his men, who all gave a nod.

"We are people you already know," he said. "I am Le Mole. Zat," he pointed to the spiky blonde, "ees Trent Boyett." I did know him. He was an escaped criminal, wanted in a few countries, include his home one of France, for drug dealing, murder, stealing, and other crimes. His cold brown eyes were locked on mine and I knew if he wanted, he could easily break every bone in my body with just his hands. Le Mole moved on, pointing to the chubby man whose hair was slicked with so much product I wondered if it was a fire hazard. "Loogie," he said. Another familiar name. He was the owner of a mob that originated in Italy, but I had heard from someone that he got a start somewhere in America. I wondered how he had fit into the night until he spoke.

"Remember me?" His voice was soft, and had a definite Polish accent to it. My driver. I wanted to kick myself for not knowing sooner. Loogie smiled, enjoying my frustration.

"Zis ees Bebe and Clyde Donovan," Le Mole said, gesturing to the happy couple. Donovan, I thought. If it was meant to be names I knew, then that meant this was the heir of the Donovan family. They came from old money like Token. No one had ever mentioned a Donovan doing anything bad though. I wondered if Clyde just decided to dabble in something illegal or if he had a history that his parents covered up with money. Next, Le Mole turned to the true Judas of the group.

"Craig," he said. "Ze owner of ze Tucker mafia." Craig seemed to stand a little straighter as if he was filled with pride, but his face conveyed no emotion. Even though the Tucker mafia was an American problem, I had still heard of them from time to time. It had spread to nearly every state and operated with an efficiency unseen since the Nazi regime. I had never thought the owner was my age, considering the mafia itself became prominent about five years ago. He started young.

"What about Damien?" I asked. Le Mole looked at Damien and said something to him in a language I didn't recognize. Damien laughed and responded in the same language, his eyes glowing.

"'E ees just Damien," Le Mole said. "Now, zat ees enough questions Monsieur 007. Now, eef you notice, ze cell you are een ees eempossible to escape. 'Owever, knowing you, you will still try to escape. But I 'ave a better idea. After we get what we want, we will let you go eef you cooperate." Every instinct in me told me it was a trick. Everything up until now had been, why would it start being different now? I hit the glass with my fist to show I wouldn't just sit passively and wait for them to most likely kill me. It wasn't Bond's or my style to wait to be "rescued". Le Mole took a final drag of the cigarette in his mouth before tossing it to the floor and digging his toe onto the butt. He took a pack out of his pocket and lit another. He looked at me, and smiled. A strange, genuine smile, unlike the smirks and grins I had been getting. Le Mole left, making a circle motion in the air with his finger. The rest of his crew filed out behind him and once again it was just me and Token.

* * *

I had promised to give Le Mole, or just Mole as his cohorts seemed to refer to him as, a fight worth putting effort into, but I was stumped. The cell was seemingly airtight, but I was still able to breath. So there had to be a hole. The glass door could not be smashed and only opened to retina scanners, programmed with each crew members' eyes. When they opened, it was barely big enough for one person to fit through sideways, forget dashing past or between their legs. Meals were brought to me and Token three times a day, served on paper plates with plastic sporks, no knives. Mole tried to bring me tea at 4:00 once, but I told him to stop his offensive assumptions about the English. I did miss tea time however. It also made me think of Pip, and how I had to break the news of who his partner was. He would be devastated, but it was better than keeping quiet. When I wasn't figuring out a way to escape, I watched people. For one, I kept a close eye on Token. Unlike me, he was given relatively free range of the ship. He was kept locked up at night, but around what I assumed to be 10:30, his old "friend" Craig would come and let him out. I'm sure Token would have run by now, but he seemed to lack interest in everything since the death of his Nichole. It didn't help that everyone, even Bebe, kept at least one gun with them at all times. Except when they came to see me. The only ones who really came though were Damien, Bebe, and Mole. All the others simply watched from a distance. Sometimes Clyde came with Bebe, as if to make sure I wouldn't try and do anything to his wife. Craig would look over at me when he came to get Token. I never saw a single emotion revealed on his face or in his eyes. No wonder he was the leader of a mafia. Somehow, though, I knew more about him than others. Mostly because Token would tell me stories of what Craig used to be like, why he trusted him so much.

"It's not like Craig was ever compassionate," he would say, "but he was still kind." Apparently Craig had a soft spot for animals, especially his old pet guinea pig. Apparently Craig used to bring coffee every morning to a boy named Tweek, who had been his best friend. Apparently he was one of the few in the town that never befriended Token just to take advantage of his money. There was a lot I picked up about Craig. The two I knew the least about were Trent and Loogie. Loogie only ever came down to laugh at what he considered his victory over Agent 007. Trent's visits were even rarer. He only came down if someone called for him to fix something. His only purpose seemed to be muscle and menial tasks. However, those seven were the only ones I ever saw. I didn't know if they were overly cocky that I wouldn't escape, or if I should actually fear their skills.

* * *

At my scheduled lunchtime, I was trying to see if there was any way to loosen the bolts that attached my walls together, though they were completely flush to the metal. I heard the doors slide open just the slightest, but I didn't turn around.

"Good afternoon Bebe," I said, expecting my usual server.

"Zey will not come out," a voice that was not Bebe's told me. Now I turned to see Mole with a plate of my usual bread with a thin slice of meat and cheese on it. For captors, they fed me well enough, and I ate to keep up my strength.

"Where's Bebe?" I asked.

"Busy." Mole offered the plate in my direction, but I wouldn't take it from him. He put it on the floor and nudged it to me with his foot instead. I took it with a quiet thanks, but I didn't eat yet. Mole hadn't left. He was just watching me and we stood about a meter apart.

"Well?" I finally said. "Aren't you going to leave?"

"Non," Mole replied. "I want to talk to you."

"You can do that while outside," I said. "Not that I'll talk."

"Maybe 'to you' ees not right. Wiz you ees what I mean."

"That's the same thing."

"Not exactly." He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "You 'ave not changed at all Gregory." I bit back a groan. Mole treated me as though we knew each other well and it really ticked me off. He didn't even do it to get on my nerves. It started ever since he had said my last name. I figured he had just done his research, but through a sort of conversation with Damien (more me asking questions while he decided which ones he would give blunt answers to), I learned that their knowledge of me was very thin. Sure, they had heard whispers of who I was. They had known I was being sent to deal with them. I had told Damien my first name and that I went to Yardale. Beyond that, they hadn't bothered learning anything. Mole just seemed to know things about me, such as my last name, how I took my coffee in the morning with the breakfast they gave me, and that I didn't like being dirty. Either he or, if he was busy, Damien would bring me a fresh pair of clothes. It was even something I would normally dress in- a simple Oxford shirt and pressed pants. Damien made a jab once that I may have liked the kiss with Mole, with the way I dressed. Not that he was any different, probably doing the same with Pip. I still didn't get why he had kissed me. When I had asked, Mole told me "I could not let go of your 'ands and I 'ad to check your mouth some'ow, oui?" I didn't quite believe that. Mole made me uncomfortable in a way I wasn't accustomed to. So we stood in my cell, close enough to touch if we reached out our arms, each watching the other carefully. After five minutes, Mole gave up hope of talking. He took out his radio and asked someone to come down and open the door for Gregory's cell because he was inside. A gruff reply from who I guessed was Trent said he was coming. I thought about trying to grab the radio, but I had nothing to take it apart with. A minute later, Trent came down and scanned his eye, opening the door the slightest crack for Mole. He slipped out, leaving me alone in my cell again. Trent walked away, his job done, but Mole lingered. He waited until Trent's footsteps couldn't be heard. He looked at me.

"DeLorne."

"What?" I asked. The name was so familiar it hurt, but I couldn't place it.

"DeLorne," he repeated. "'Opefully you will remember… Gregory Thorne." Mole left me with my thoughts. I had told Damien I could surprise him very easily if I felt like it, but I don't think I could ever be as constantly surprising as Mole.

* * *

**A/N: Next one is going to be basically all flashback stuff so yay! Also the reason I made Loogie have a Polish accent instead his mobster one is because Cartman called him some name that is apparently derogatory to Polish people so... idk. He's Polish. Reviews could help me write chapter 6 and have it actually done for it's deadline! **


	5. Chapter 5

My sleep usually came dreamless, but the name DeLorne wouldn't stop bugging me. Whose was it? Why did I know it? As I tossed and turned on the floor, memories I forgot I had played behind my eyes. I was young, back in third grade. It had been my first year at Yardale and everything was wonderful. Everyone was polite and intellectual, every hall and room spotless. Until I went out in the yard. Most boys were just standing around chatting while the bold ones risked staining their pants and sat on the swings talking. I was just about to join in on a conversation when someone ran past me, bumping into me. I would've just kept to myself, but I noticed he left a dirt stain on my brand-new Yardale uniform shirt.

_"Hey!"_ I called to the boy. He stopped and turned. I couldn't remember his face exactly, but I knew that I would come to love it.

_"What?"_ he said. His voice was funny.

_"You got me dirty,"_ I accused, and noticed that he himself was covered from head to toe with muck. I was appalled. _"How can you stand all that?"_ I wondered in horror struck awe.

_"I can stand eet because I am not a pussy," _he scoffed. This word was new to me, but I could tell it was an insult of some kind. Before I could retaliate, the bell rung, signaling the end of outdoor playtime. I turned away, deciding not to get into an argument. Before I went into the building, I looked back at the school yard. The boy was still out there. I noticed he had a shovel.

* * *

The memory shifted. I sat at a distance, watching the boy with curiosity. If he knew I was there, he didn't acknowledge me. He was my friend now. I knew his name, but I still couldn't remember it.

_"-."_ I said it aloud to get his attention. The boy turned to look at me with annoyance.

_"What ees eet beetch?"_ he grumbled. I knew he was from Paris, and that was the reason for his strange way of speaking. I also knew that, even though we were friends, he called me names that were not the kindest. But he didn't make me leave, so I knew we had to be close.

_"-, what are you doing?"_ I asked. He looked away again and went back to the map he was holding.

_"Studying."_ This was strange, because his grades were the polar opposite of my straight As. I peered over his shoulder and saw the map was of our town.

_"What class is this for?"_

_"Eet ees not for a class."_ The boy took a crayon out his pocket and made a circle at a spot. _"Zis ees for a mission."_

_"Mission? Is this a new game -?"_ I wanted to play something besides stare at my friend while he did God knows what. He shook his head.

_"Non."_ He looked at me seriously. _"I 'ave a job Gregory."_

_"Really? What do you do?"_

_"I 'ire myself out for people 'oo need my services."_

_"Like a prostitute?"_

_"Non."_ He sounded angry, but he seemed to be impressed that I used a not-so-innocent term. _"Like a mercenary."_ The word wasn't in my mental dictionary. I would look it up later.

* * *

We were at the beginning of summer before fifth grade, a long memory gap. There were a few things I could still figure out. The boy was my best friend. His job as a mercenary was still going strong, and he was very good at what he did. Sometimes when I went to his house I would look through his desk. His homework would be untouched, but folders upon folders of papers with some words and terms that even I didn't know had French notes messily scrawled along the borders. My friend, or Christophe (the name came back to me) as I was allowed to call him, was a lot smarter than he let on. I became a sort of partner for his jobs. If anyone ever had trouble and needed help, I would send them to him. He never outwardly thanked me, but I knew he grew more comfortable around me. Trusted me with more. One night he had invited me to stay over at his house. We were getting a little old for sleepovers and they were a little girly, but it didn't matter to us. However, I made Christophe shower before we shared his bed because he was, and always was, dirty. When he came out, grumbling about hating soap and me, I noticed a scar on his cheek.

_"What's that?"_ I reached out to touch it, but he flinched away.

_"Nozing. Eet 'as always been zere,"_ he mumbled.

_"Maybe, but your face is always so untidy I don't know what's dirt and what's skin. Come here." _I tried to look again but he covered his cheek with his hand. Sighing, I reached out and pulled his hand away. The scar was on his left cheek and seemed to be a scrape of some kind that had been done over and over.

_"What is this Christophe?"_ I asked. He was silent for a while, then finally mumbled, _"Somezing from my mozer."_

"_Your mum?_" I knew Christophe and his mom weren't on the best of terms, mainly stemming from the fact that Christophe was decidedly misotheistic, or God-hating. I had learned to live with it, but apparently she hadn't. I traced the scar with my thumb. Based on the position and size, I guessed it was most likely from a back slap with his mom's ring hand. Each time I tried to make Christophe look at me, he avoided eye contact. This meekness wasn't something I was used to, it wasn't in his character. I wondered what else had happened that he never told me about.

_"Oh Chris…"_ I leaned up and kissed the scar softly. Now Christophe did look at me, dark brown eyes wide in surprise. He touched his cheek.

_"Gregory-"_

_"Ah."_ I put a finger on his lips_. "Let's put this behind us and move on."_ I knew that was his way of doing things. Christophe nodded slowly.

* * *

It was the end of summer. The day was slightly overcast, but the winds were strong. Perfect for sailing. I sat at the till. Christophe was my lookout at the front of the boat. His brunette hair looked messier than usual from the sea breeze.

_"I do not know why we are doing zis,"_ he said.

_"Because it's fun,"_ I told him. _"Sailing is a good pass-time."_

_"Digging ees a good pass-time,"_ he muttered, but didn't argue more. I had a reason to bring him out. I had found a coastline a while ago and I wanted to show him. Once there, I had food that I had prepared. He always complained about my cooking. "British sheet" he called it, but this time I had really tried. The coast began to appear in the distance and I guided the boat to the shore.

_"Ladies first,"_ I smiled, gesturing for him to get out.

_"Zen go,"_ he said. I laughed and grabbed his hand, dragging him with me. He smiled, a rare thing. After that, he was silent while I set up our picnic. He didn't speak when we sat to eat, and he didn't seem to be listening as I rattled on about the cave nearby I wanted him to see.

_"What's on your mind Christophe?"_ I asked. He looked up.

_"Quoi?"_

_"You're not hearing a single thing I say, are you?"_ I sighed.

_"Gregory, do you remember when you kissed me?"_ He asked suddenly. I blushed. I did remember.

_"Yes, but I thought we were letting that go. Now, about the lighting of the cave, it's not too bad-"_

_"I do not want to let eet go." _Christophe wouldn't stop staring at me. I swallowed, forcing myself to stare back.

_"You don't?"_

_"Non. I like you."_

_"Well I like you too Christophe. You're a very good companion and-"_

_"Je t'aime." _He wouldn't break eye contact. The gap between us began to close and I froze. I knew enough French to understand what he had just said. Christophe kissed me very softly, as if he was scared I would shatter at any moment. I thought that I might. I hadn't kissed many people that weren't relatives before. Just one or two girls who I had thought were charming. But this was something new entirely. I leaned forward, wanting more of it. Christophe pushed me back, leaning over me as he broke away. Our faces were so close I could finally remember seeing every detail of his face.

_"I think I may fancy you as well,"_ I breathed. He gave me another smile and was about to speak when we noticed it had begun to rain. He moved away reluctantly.

_"We should go back before eet storms."_ Christophe helped me up and we went back to my boat. The winds picked up faster than we anticipated and the sail became hard to navigate. Rain came down in sheets and waves rocked us. I was so lost that I didn't know which way would get us back.

_"Are we going to die?"_ I asked Christophe, frightened more than I wanted to admit. His face was set in a grimace.

_"Non."_ He shook his head. _"You will not die. I promise."_

_"And you?"_ I asked. Christophe said nothing. _"Christophe DeLorne."_ I spoke his full name. _"If you die, I swear to God-"_

_"Do not swear anyzing to zat beetch!"_ He whipped around to glare at me just as a wave came and crashed on our little boat. What came after was all water logged. Memories were nothing more than faint remembrances. I washed up on a shore, alive. My boat followed behind, dented and scraped up. Christophe DeLorne, however, never did. He was presumed dead.

* * *

I didn't spend the next day searching for a way out. I waited for Le Mole, my old friend, to show his face. Bebe came in the morning, handing me a croissant.

"Sleep well?" she asked with a smile.

"Well enough," I said. "Where's Chr- Le Mole?"

"Mole?" Bebe frowned. "He's out. Why do you need to know?"

"I want to talk with him."

"You'll have to wait." She left, but came back at lunch. Christophe still wasn't back. I wondered what exactly he was out doing, or if he even was out. Maybe he was avoiding me. Damien came in the evening with my dinner.

"Something's on your mind," he said after he had given me the food and stepped out of the cell.

"What's Le Mole's real name?" I asked, deciding he would be the best to ask.

"It's private," replied Damien.

"Is it Christophe DeLorne?" Damien blinked, then smiled with his fangs.

"And how might you know that Mr. Bond?"

"Because we 'ave unfinished business." Finally, the man in question came walking down the hall. He placed a hand on Damien's shoulder. "Give us some time alone si vous plaît." Damien searched Christophe's face, then chuckled.

"I see now." He tucked his finger under Christophe's chin, drawing him closer. "You're playing with fire here DeLorne."

"Not ze first time mon ami." Damien nodded in response, a sort of knowing, teasing look on his face, then stepped back. Christophe scanned his eye and the door opened. The moment he slipped through, I hugged him. I was not James Bond and he was not the villain. We were just two old friends. Partners. Maybe wisps of lovers. Christophe held me close.

"I thought you were dead," I whispered.

"So did I." Christophe cupped my cheek with one hand and looked for permission. I made the first move instead, kissing him.

"Just so you know, I'm only interested in girls," I said, pulling away.

"Me too," Christophe said.

"Glad we're on the same page." I kissed him again, tangling my fingers in those brunette locks of his. His hands went to my waist, drawing me closer. We didn't break apart until Damien cleared his throat. I hadn't noticed he was still there. Christophe gave me a kiss on the cheek before he let Damien open the door for him to leave. Once out, he lit a cigarette for himself. Had he had his lighter on him the whole time? I thought.

"Bon nuit Gregory," he said, leaving with just that. Damien watched him walk away, then smirked.

"I knew it."

"Oh be quiet."

* * *

**A/N: Ok I still haven't finished chapter 6. So. There might be a bit of a wait. HOWEVER! I might post other things I'm thinking about writing. Also I'm going to start doing a thing where I put story ideas on my profile that people can take. Seriously I have so many ideas that never get executed I want someone to pick them up. They'll be there for a month unless someone PMs me that they want it. Then they can take it as long as they say they got the idea from me. And I'd love to read what people come up with! See you guys some time later!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: OH SHIT SORRY GUYS. So. Let me explain. I was all like "yeah I'll totally write a ton during my break" but I was so… uninspired about what to write. I have an idea where this is going but I just don't know how to connect the dots. So I have this chapter written up. I don't know when I'll get the next one up. Anyways, check my profile because I'm going to do a collaboration and it'll be cool. You should watch out for that.**

* * *

Christophe's visits to my cell became more and more frequent. Sometimes we kissed for a while and held each other, and sometimes we talked about what we had missed in each other's' lives. Minus details about my job. I was mostly interested in what had become of Christophe after the shipwreck.

"You were not ze only one struggling wiz ze seas zat day," Christophe said. "I was thrown from ze boat, but I was not knocked out. I tried to swim and find you, but I could not. 'owever, I did find Damien." He took out his lighter and flicked it on before letting the flame die out. So he did always keep it on him, I thought. "Damien let me aboard 'is ship and I was able to bring eet to shore. I 'ad no idea where we were, but I wanted to get back to you. I tried. But I was never able to. I never 'ad any money, and neither did Damien."

"Why did that keep you?" I frowned. "Why didn't you just call? I would've paid for anything to get you back."

"I didn't know your number," Christophe said. "But Damien 'ad connections. 'e knew people 'oo could give me money, as long as I did jobs for zem."

"Mercenary work," I said in understanding. Christophe nodded and explained a few of his various jobs to me. He'd stolen information, murdered innocents over a few pieces of paper, and risked his life to save people that would later threaten him. Mercenary work consumed him. Most of his money went to buy new weapons or bribe a client or forge a new identity of himself. He never had time to come back to England and search for me, and by the time a job rolled around that happened to be near my old neighborhood, I had moved away by then. He met the rest of his team through various missions and eventually came to trust them somewhat. As soon as he got enough money, he bought himself a ship and assembled his crew. By that time, trying to find me had become more of a distant dream than a possible reality. I hated to admit it to him, but I hadn't tried half as hard. Of course I insisted that the bay area be scoured for him. My parents knew how much he meant to me. Or, almost, at the very least, but they were only willing to spend so much. And his mother, that cursed woman, actually seemed somewhat pleased when I reported tearfully that her son was missing.

* * *

Somehow, no one else on the ship noticed what was happening between Christophe and I. Damien knew, and teased me about it, but didn't comment on it to other people. Bebe noted a few times that I seemed strangely more cheerful.

"What's got you smiling Mr. Bond?" she asked. "Have we kept you locked up long enough to like us?"

"Not quite," I laughed. "I'll still escape and see all of you in jail, I promise." Bebe laughed my promise off and left. To be truthful though, escaping had moved to back of my thoughts. While knowing that Christophe always kept a lighter on him had given me a spark of an idea, it quickly fizzled out. I later learned that he also always kept a multi-purpose tool on him at all times as well. While this might help, I couldn't quite put all the dots together on how that could help me escape.

* * *

Late at night, I was usually asleep. I spent the first few nights awake to try and see if I had any night opportunities to escape, but I was beginning to tell myself it was futile. James Bond would be ashamed with me. That night, however, I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I was reduced to idly picking lint off my clothes. After some time though, I thought I heard footsteps behind me. It had to be impossible though. I was trapped in a very small cell. Two voices joined the footsteps and I decided this was much more exciting than lint. I sat as quietly as I could and listened in. From what I had picked up on each crew member, it seemed to be Trent and Craig talking. Their steps stopped and I could've sworn my back was nearly touching them.

"So this is the issue?" Trent asked, and a slightly creak of metal followed. Maybe there was a metal catwalk of some kind behind me.

"Yep," Craig said. "Engine fail or something. We need it fixed."

"You have to stay here and hold the light for me to see," Trent said, and started tinkering away at whatever problem there was. I pressed my ear to the wall to try and hear better.

"We're going to port again, right?" Trent asked. "That tool there."

"Yeah," Craig replied, and I could picture him with no emotion on his face handing Trent a tool. "Then off to America after that. I need to check up on how things are running."

"You need to check on more than that, don't you?" Trent chuckled. "You are worried for the one named Tweek."

"He's fragile," Craig said a bit defensively. It was the first time I had heard him caring about something. I wondered if it was the same Tweek that Token had mentioned. "And besides, don't act like you don't have someone there too."

"Yes, yes. Thomas."

"He's pretty cool isn't he? It's so ballsy how he can just curse in public like that."

"He can't help it," Trent snapped. "But yes, he is cool. I am glad you introduced me." The metal creaked again and I assumed Trent stood up. "There. Fixed."

"I'll take your word for it." Footsteps started again, ones I assumed to be Craig's since heavier ones that would match to Trent's body type followed after. They left with out of sync sound and slowly faded. As I sat there, thinking, I slowly realized that I needed sleep. However, I would not be able to get said sleep, because I was busy with a plan of how to escape.

* * *

**A/N: I'll update when I can! I promise! :3**


	7. Author's Note

Hey guys. Sorry this is just an author's note but... oh man.

I should say something. And that something is- yes, i am about to say it- the cancellation of this story. BUT LET ME EXPLAIN.

So, I had a HUGE burst of inspiration when I started this story, but then it all kinda teetered away. I hate ending fanfictions and stories in general because they're these things I made all by myself and even if they're shit, they're still mine. I typed it up. I thought up the twists and turns and plots and dialog. And, when it isn't fanfiction, I brought these characters to life and gave them purpose. I may just be a Romantic(capital R) but that's what makes me enjoy writing so much. And when I have writers block and I have to end what I'm working on... it really, honestly pains me.

There's also another reason though. And that reason has to do with the fact that I'm kind of not a super South Park enthusiast anymore.

I just wanted to visit a friendly desert community, where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and a darkly quirky, gay radio host has romantic weekends at Arby's with his perfectly imperfect scientist boyfriend. YEP I GOT INTO NIGHTVALE AND CURRENTLY THERE IS NO GOING BACK. I had an inbetween stage for a little, but then I binge-watched(listened?) to all the podcasts and I'm all caught up and it's all crazy. And Cecil and Carlos are cuter than... I can't even compare them because there's nothing like them. Also all the interns. Oh god. But anyways... yeah. I still love and care deeply for South Park, it's just not my current phase. And my soul is already torn enough because although I'm mostly-void-partly-stars deep in Nightvale... Steven Universe anyone? I watched the show when it first came out and I thought it was decent but now that there's some huge stuff actually going on, plus Lapis Lazuli is beautiful, I'm falling for that too.

So, if you read through all that, good for you! I'm impressed. If not, whatever. If you're still here, a few things:

1- ROSEBADWOLF1000 I'M SO SORRY I NEVER GOT BACK TO YOU ON ANYTHING EVER. If you still want to do the collab, I'd be up for it, but I'd like to wait until the summer.

2- I got a job recently yay! But that means my weekends are basically eaten up. Also I no longer go to writing classes because of said job. So if/when I pick up writing fanfiction again, it'll update slowly.

3- DO YOU WANT TO TAKE OVER THIS STORY? BECAUSE IF YOU DO YOU TOTALLY CAN. JUST PM ME AND I'LL LET YOU TAKE IT AND FINISH IT.

Thanks y'all! It's a bittersweet kind of goodbye we all hate, but we need them!


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